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The Queen's Scarlet, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 37. The Coward's Blow |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. THE COWARD'S BLOW Fully determined that there must be no scandal, Dick resolved to await his opportunity, and then confront his cousin, to demand of him that he should quickly vacate his position; and, to this end, he watched for a chance to meet him somewhere quite alone. But he very soon became aware of the fact that not only had Mark recognised, but avoided, him, till one day, when idling along about a couple of miles from the town, there was Mark ahead, going on in front, as if inviting him to follow, and leading him on right away. What Mark's object was in following his devious course along the lanes more and more into the country Richard Frayne did not pause to consider; all he thought was that at last, after many efforts, he was going to run his cousin down, and bring him to bay right away from the possibility of interruption, and where, out in the open fields, they would, for the time being, occupy the position not of officer and private--with the tremendous barrier of rank between them, which was like some large breastwork protecting Mark from assault--but as man to man. And there, a few hundred yards in advance, Mark walked rapidly on, never once, as far as his cousin could see, looking back, though Richard felt sure that he was aware of being followed, and was awaiting his opportunity to get out of sight and then make for the town. Richard knew that by running he might now overtake the young officer, but he left this for a last resource, meaning to walk steadily on until he caught up to Mark or forced him to turn back and meet him face to face. The way grew more rural and secluded, and the chalk hills, with their sides broken up by frost and weathering, stood out white, and dotted with patches of heath and bracken. Here and there a dense copse could be seen, while in sheltered hollows--forming in the distance what looked like squares worked in tapestry patterns--was a huge fabric of green, looped and flowered, where the hops hung in luxuriant grape-like clusters. Every now and then Mark was lost to sight, as he plunged into some copse, following a devious footpath, but Richard caught sight of him again soon after. Then the quarry was missed once more, as he crossed one of the hop-gardens; yet, always the same, Richard dogged him with unerring patience for hours. "What does he mean?" thought Richard at last. "He can't know I am following him. He is simply having a long walk to keep himself in training, and will soon turn back." At last, about half an hour after passing a long village lying low down in a hollow among the hills, and where there was no sign of farmhouse or cottage anywhere in the broken, wooded landscape, Mark plunged into a great patch of coppice, which had been cut down for hop-poles a few years before, and had sprung up again, forming a dense wilderness of ash, hazel, and sweet chestnut, running right up a steep, bank-like hill, away below which, well sheltered from the north and westerly gales, lay another of the many hop-fields, heavy with its green and golden bines. Here all at once Richard found himself at fault, and he stood gazing onward, with a feeling of annoyance rapidly growing as the thought came insistent that, after all, he was to have his long, exciting walk for nothing. Only a few minutes before he had seen the erect figure pass in among the trees, and it must, he felt, be exactly where he stood; but there was no sight of it going onward, and, as far as he could make out, there was no lane near, unless one passed over by the red-brick building which topped an eminence to the right--a building with a couple of the great cowls of the hop-kilns rising from its roof. "He must have made for these," thought Richard. And feeling pretty certain that if he took a short cut down through the hop-garden he would strike the track, and find his cousin coming up the lane deep down in the coppice, or passing onward on his return, he passed rapidly on. Down he went along the steep slope, threading the tall, thin growing-poles to right and left, till he came suddenly upon the edge of the hop-garden, with its little hills, each squared by its four poles, running in direct lines, and forming shady alleys, completely embowered in many places by the vines which festooned the poles and leaped over from side to side. Keeping to the edge of the garden for a few yards, and passing alley after alley, till he came upon the end of one which looked fairly open, and which ran in the direction of the oast-house on the hill, Richard was about to plunge down this, when, all at once, there was a sharp, thin sound, followed by the loud whirr of wings, as an early covey of strongly-pinioned partridges, alarmed by the crack, sprang up, and flew over the tops of the poles, completely hidden by the vines. Eager and excited now, Richard passed into the next alley and the next, gazing sharply down them for him who had struck that match to light a cigar. "At last!" he said to himself; for not a dozen yards down the next--a particularly dark, thickly-embowered lane of verdure--there stood Mark, with his back to him, holding a second match to his cigar, from which the grey smoke rose up, to disappear amid the vine-like leaves. Drawing a long breath, Richard walked down this alley. But Mark did not move, standing, coolly smoking there, till his cousin was within a couple of yards, when he started round as if surprised, and the two young men stood in the greenish twilight of that solitude, utterly hidden, while in all probability there was not a human being within a couple of miles. "Ah, my lad," said Mark, quietly, "having a walk? Rather hot." He turned as if to go, but was arrested by Richard's imperious order-- "Stop!" Mark turned round, frowning and scowling. "You don't belong to my regiment, my lad, but you know that this is not the way to address an officer." "That will do, Mark Frayne," cried Richard, sternly. "It is time we understood one another." "Mark Frayne!" cried the officer, angrily. Then, with a half-laugh, "Oh! I see--205th, from the Town Barracks. You have got hold of my name, my lad." "Got hold of your name!" exclaimed Richard, angrily. "There, no more of that. I tell you I can bear this no longer. It is time we came to an understanding." "My good fellow, have you been drinking?" said Mark, with a forced laugh; "or is it a touch of sunstroke? Here, you had better make for the nearest stream, have a good draught of water, and then get back to barracks." "So that's how Mr Mark Frayne would prescribe for sunstroke!" said Richard, sarcastically. "My good fellow, we are not in garrison now, and I like to be kind and friendly to men in the ranks; but there are bounds. Recollect that you are addressing your officer, and do not be insolent!" "Insolent?" cried Richard. "Yes, sir, insolent!" said Mark, speaking in a low voice. "You have got hold of my name; but I am Sir Mark Frayne." "Mark Frayne," cried Richard, fiercely, "and my cousin! Once more I tell you that this can go on no longer!" "Are you mad, fellow?" said Mark, speaking beneath his breath. "Almost, at being face to face with you alone after all I have suffered at your hands! There, set aside this miserable show of not knowing me! You recognised me that night of the ball. You knew me directly, though you tried hard to assume ignorance. Now, then, I don't want to be hard upon you. I have held back from going to lawyers, for I have felt that it would be better if we settled the matter ourselves. Do you dare to tell me that you do not know me?" Mark gazed at him searchingly, and then his face seemed to light up. "Why, yes; of course, I know you now--the bandsman Smithson. Of course. You are the man who helped me out of the burning tent." "Yes; I saved the life of one who had sent me into this miserable exile!" "Of course, I see now. You had a serious illness after, Smithson, and it affected your head. The doctor told me all about it." "It was needless," said Richard, gazing full in the eyes which were half-closed, and which kept on glancing from their corners up and down the long dim alley where they stood. "No; I am glad he told me, my lad. That explains a good deal. Now, take my advice, and get back to barracks. You were not fit to come so far." This assumption of ignorance staggered Richard for the moment. Then, with his voice sounding very deep and stern-- "Look here, Mark," he said; "your poor father is dead, but I presume that my aunt is living, and for her sake I am unwilling to take steps that may give her pain. You proved yourself an unprincipled scoundrel over that bill transaction, and now, even as an officer, you cannot act like a gentleman." Mark was very pale now as he stood facing his cousin; but he showed no sign of resentment, and Richard went on-- "Your conduct towards Miss Deane has been that of a dishonourable blackguard; towards Mr Lacey, that of a sharper and a cheat. You see, I know; but I am willing to spare you, for your mother's sake. You will at once communicate with your lawyers, and tell them your assumption of the property and title has been a mistake, and that you are willing to surrender all claims at once." "Poor fellow!" said Mark, softly, as he stood with his hands in his jacket pockets and with a peculiar thin smile upon his tightened lips; "the result of the fever. What a fancy to get into his head!" "Do you mean to take that line?" said Richard. "Think better of it, and give it up. It will save you trouble, your mother pain, and I promise you that I will not be ungenerous toward you." "How singular these crazes are!" said Mark, softly, as if speaking to himself. "Then you mean to fight me?" said Richard. "My poor fellow, what nonsense you have got into your bewildered head! I had a cousin, Sir Richard Frayne, who once, in a mad fit, attacked me, and afterwards threw himself into a river, and was drowned." "And was not drowned," said Richard, quietly. "Yes, he was drowned. They found the body, and he was buried close to his estate, and in the church there is a handsome monument to his memory, saying kindly things that he did not deserve, for he committed suicide in remorse for having obtained money by false pretences." "You are an unmitigated scoundrel, Mark!" said Richard, with his brow now knit angrily. "Once more, will you accept my terms?" "He is dead and buried," said Mark, with his eyes more than half-shut now; "and if Richard Frayne rose from the dead no one would believe his tale." "Will you accept my terms, or must I denounce you as one who has proved treacherous to his friend, acted like a blackleg at cards, and who obtained a hundred pounds by forging his cousin's name, and whose title and estate he now holds?" Mark stood there, white as a sheet, glaring at the speaker. "How will you stand then, Mark, with officers and men of honour. Take my offer before you fall." "I tell you," whispered Mark huskily, "that Richard Frayne is dead, and that you are an impostor." "And I tell you that I will have no mercy now," cried Richard, excitedly. "I tried to spare you, but this life is intolerable since you came here. Once more, will you accept my terms?" "Impostor!" "Then take your chance!" "Take yours!" cried Mark, in the same low whisper, as he snatched a revolver from his pocket and fired quickly at his cousin, who sprang back, dragged a hop-pole from the side of the alley, snapping it in two, and, wild with agony and excitement, made a rush at Mark, who met it by standing firm, now taking aim at his cousin's head. But he did not fire; for all at once Richard's knees gave way, the stout pole fell from his grasp, and, flinging up his hands, he swayed over backward with a crash, bearing down a portion of the hop-bine as he fell. Mark stood there with his arm still rigidly extended, but altering his position now. Then, taking a step or two forward, he bent over, gazing fixedly at his cousin's distorted face, and taking aim once more as he stooped. He was about to draw the trigger, when the sharp barking of a dog arose from two or three hundred yards away. The barking ceased, and Mark hurriedly thrust the pistol back in his pocket, but a sudden thought struck him, and, quickly stooping down, he seized his cousin's clenched right hand, dragged the fingers apart, and placed the weapon in his grasp; then laying the broken piece of hop-pole back, as if it had been broken in the fall, he rose and looked sharply up and down the alley, and stepped into the next, after peering through and looking up and down that. The next moment his white and alarmed face reappeared, avoiding the body lying prone, as his eyes peered here and there till they fell upon the freshly-lit cigar he had dropped from his lips; for a faint streak of smoke rose from where it lay, and betrayed its presence. Reaching forward, he caught it up, drew back and disappeared through the drooping hops, passing from one alley to another, till he elected to walk straight on to a coppice on the other side; here lighting his cigar afresh, he began to walk back toward Ratcham at a slow steady pace, and without meeting a soul; neither did he hear the barking of the dog again. _ |
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